Kiss it better?
by ThatCaveYouCallAChest
Summary: What can't a kiss heal?
1. Chapter 1

The sun pushed its way through wreaths of cloud, casting a cold light onto the reams of virgin snow and making them sparkle and shimmer, clumps of frozen diamond falling from tall, proud evergreen trees. A wide, clear, icy river ran through the middle of the forest, the trickle and bubble of the water over the rocks that stood like carved statues in the midst of it augmenting the shrill birdsong that rent the thin air.

A few moments later, the sound of whining and complaining, along with a few sniffles, joined those two sounds, followed soon by the crunch of two pairs of shoes making a way through the snow.

"Noooooorrrrrrrrr... It huuuuuuuuurts!" The taller of the two boys - who both looked much too young to be out in this weather unsupervised - pouted, trailing after his companion, who spared him a single glance over his shoulder before continuing to walk.

"Yer fine. Stop complainin'." Letting out another loud, attention-demanding whine, the complainer took another step then face planted deliberately in the snow, causing the other to sigh and turn back to him. "Well, what do you want me ta do about it?" The boy face down raised his face from the snow, clumps sticking to his dark blond hair. A second passed, then he raised his index finger, on which a single, small red line was barely visible.

"Kiss it better?" The lighter blond regarded him for a moment, then sighed.

"If I kiss it better, will you quit whinin'?" The first boy nodded, face lighting up. 'Nor' sighed again, then leant forwards and placed a light kiss over the spot; warm, soft skin brushing over more calloused, cold stretches. "There. Better?" Pushing himself into a sitting up position, a wide grin grew across the other boy's face.

"Ja~ all better~ tak!" 'Nor' rolled his eyes, getting up and starting to walk again, the scrunching of snow behind him letting him know that the other was following again.

"Idiot."


	2. Chapter 2

The field stretched away in front of him, stained and twisted from the pleasant green it had been a few days ago by the crimson of shed blood that soaked the earth and the mounds of corpses, both human and animal. The air, rather than being fresh and clear, was tainted with death, iron and pitch; the wails and groans of the injured humans, the screams of the wounded horses, the crackling of fire and the electric slide and clink of metal over metal the only sounds.

Turning away, he strode over the field back towards the tent, not caring whether he stepped on corpses, in pools of frothed blood, or on the actual ground any more. In a few minutes, he had reached the heavy opulence of the tent that he shared with his fellow countries - opulent against all of their will - and stepped into the candle lit dimness, frowning and blinking as his eyes adjusted. Once they had, he went about lighting some more, waiting for the small hiss of the candles lighting before moving on, until the interior of the tent was as bright as outside.

Sighing quietly, he sat down to await his fellows, looking through some battle plans while he did. He was the strategist; if it was left to the others, they would be trying to convince their leaders to simply launch a full-frontal assault. Especially when in the grip of the berserker rage that they all tapped sometimes. As such, it was his job to be the intermediate. To get them to listen to reason. To cut them off when they started to rely too much on brute force in their plans.

He was lifted from his thoughts by the flap of the tent being lifted aside, letting in a gust of air that made the candles flicker in the breeze. Glancing over, he recognised one of the other two.

"Close the door after ya, Dane." The other laughed, grinning across at him as he obeyed.

"Nice ta see ya too, Nor~" The Norwegian simply shrugged, watching him with a blank face. 'Dane', recognisable as the complaining little boy from centuries ago more grown up, laughed again at his lack of response, shaking his head and crossing to the water bowl to wash some of the blood off of himself. 'Nor''s eyes narrowed, seeing the awkward, stiff way that he was holding one of his arms, and stood, crossing to him and stopping to the side of him with folded arms and an arched eyebrow.

"Show me." The other protested for a while, tried to bluff, to wave it off as nothing or his eyes playing tricks on him, before the silvery-haired teen grabbed the arm and squeezed, causing the spiky-haired male to bite back a yelp. "_Show me._" The Dane sighed, before sitting down on his mattress (such as it was) and pulling back his sleeve to reveal a long, deep wound, obviously done by something like a broadsword. Clicking his tongue disapprovingly, he went to fetch some of the medical equipment, sending him a hard, sharp glare when he looked like he was even _thinking_ about moving or protesting.

Eventually, the wound was bandaged, and the absence of any other wounds assured and confirmed. Sighing, the Norwegian stepped back, regarding the Dane with an impassive face. The Dane held his gaze for a moment, then looked down, mumbling something.

"What is it?" The other looked back up, giving him a sheepish grin and offering his arm out.

"... Kiss it better?" 'Nor' frowned disapprovingly, folding his arms again.

"We aren't children any more, Dane." The other blond nodded, but kept holding his arm out, a stupidly adorable - he denied ever thinking that quickly to himself - pleading expression on his face. He was only able to hold the gaze a moment longer before sighing and stepping forwards, leaning down to graze his lips gently over the rough bandages. The Dane smiled, watching him.

"Tak..." Huffing, he stepped back, delivering a hard punch to the opposite arm - eliciting a yelp.

"Don't get used ta it."


	3. Chapter 3

The world had changed a lot since that day, and now Tarmac spanned the fields in long, curved meanders, piles of brick forming houses along the sides, mankind forcing nature into squares of fences and hedges.

'Nor', now completely grown up, was standing outside one of these houses, one with a large garden, long drive and a rather bright front. Not in the brickwork or design itself, but in what had been done to the actual house and the trimmings. Reaching out, he took hold of the brass knocker - which shone golden in the centre of the crimson door, and rapped on the wood three sharp times. There was a pause, then the door opened to reveal 'Dane'. He took a soft breath.

The Dane's eyes, although from a brief glance not looking any different to normal, lacked the characteristic spark of energy and enthusiasm that was so common to see, and his lips trembled slightly as they were carefully schooled into a parody of his normal grin. A grin that, this time, didn't reach his eyes.

"Hej, Nor..." Stepping back, he allowed the other entrance, shuffling off towards the living room. "... D'ya want coffee? 'Ve got some..."

The Norwegian stayed still for a moment, before shedding his shoes and coat and marching straight after the Dane, a hard knot of anger tight in his chest directed at anyone who had dared to make his - no, not his. He would never be his - Dane look like this.

He caught up with him just as he had reached the sofa, pushing him down and sitting down right next to him, eyes that showed concern in their deep cobalt searching his face for a reason, a cause for this mood that didn't suit him in the slightest.

"What's happened?" The Dane shook his head. "Mathias..." The word trailed off as 'Nor' continued to look at him, waiting for a response. A moment later, Mathias stirred, drawing a deep breath not unlike one that someone would take after almost drowning.

"There's a guy..." A guy. Was this a response to a particularly harsh jibe? Or... Was it something much more personal? "... He's absolutely perfect in every way..." More personal. He tried to repress the sharp, hurt pang in his chest, resigning himself once again to being the best friend, the one who was there to talk, to snap him out of any self-decrepitating moods, to drag him home from the pub at one in the morning. The best friend... and nothing more. Another long, shuddering breath. "... I love him, Lukas... I love him so much... But whenever I try ta tell him, he tells me to go away, or ta stop bein' so stupid, an' I never actually get ta say it..." Lukas blinked as Mathias looked up, a serious look in his eyes. "I tried ta say it earlier, but he hung up before I could..." ... Wait. He had been on the phone to him earlier. But they had finished their conversation. He was sure of that. "See, the thing is... I've loved him fer years... But I don't know how ta tell him an' have him believe me... An'... 'N' it hurts..." His eyes were boring into his, serious and with a flicker of something that he had never dared to hope might be there for him floating on the aquamarine surface. Lukas drew a small breath, unconsciously wetting his lips and forcing himself to keep the impassive expression.

"... What do you want me ta do about that, Mathias? I don't know enough about this man to tell ya how to go about it. Surely you'd be better off talking to France?" The Dane took a deep, almost calming breath, eyes never leaving his as his lips formed the next words.

"... Kiss it better?" He blinked, eyes widening slightly. Kiss it better? But where...? How...? Was this...? Is this...?

"Idiot, how am I supposed to kiss it better? There's no way I can-" He was cut off by a finger, which then moved to point to the Dane's lips.

"Kiss it better there." ... This was happening. He took a short breath, pressing his lips quickly together, suddenly noticing that his breathing rate had increased, as had his heart rate, and that he was now hypersensitive to every little motion of his, or Mathias', body. He leant forwards slowly, hesitantly, unable to look away.

Then, their lips were touching, electricity shooting through him from the contact. He tried to reluctantly pull away after a moment, but was prevented by doing so by Mathias' hands, which had at some point moved to his waist and the back of his head. He tightened his own grip on his shoulders - how his hands got there, he didn't remember - and pulled him closer as well, letting himself melt into the kiss that had been too long in coming for both of them.


	4. Chapter 4

Houses lay in piles of red rubble, bare skeletons laid bare to the choking, burning air. The swollen, red sun clawed its way through arid clumps of dense grey cloud, bathing the wasteland in blood. There was no greenery any more, no snow to sparkle in the young sunbeams of the days when the world was young and unspoilt. Instead, there was dust in blankets covering the relics of cars and other commodities of 21st century life. Shards of glass still hung like deadly, sullied diamonds from shop windows, or crunched underfoot in a sickly, mocking imitation of fresh snow. If you wished to live here, you had to be fast. Cunning. Strong. And it definitely didn't hurt to have a big gun and lots of ammunition.

Two people trudged through this wreckage of a once great city, both limping and dragging their feet from exhaustion. One had a long coat on, and a rifle slung over his back in a position that was easy to get to if needed. No, not if. When. The other bore a pistol tucked into his belt, and a knife on the other side. The one with the rifle was gesticulating wildly, in the middle of telling a long and enthusiastic story, doing his best to keep both of their spirits up. The other seemingly ignored him, but was given away by slight twitches of the lips and soft, muffled laughter at sporadic intervals. However, a flash of crimson-tinted light caught his eye, and he stopped, training both on the place where he saw it, thrusting out an arm to keep the first in place.

"An' then I said- ... Lukey?" The one with the rifle blinked as he was suddenly restrained, looking back to him to see what the problem was. Lukas shook his head, desperately hoping that it wasn't what he thought it was. But not even a moment later, a gunshot rent the air and he froze long enough to make sure that neither of them had been hit before starting to run, dragging Mathias along behind him. Just in case he had decided it was a good idea to stand and fight.

He was the strategist.

It was his job to protect his fellows in arms.

It was his job to protect the one he loved.

Running in zig-zags of unequal length, he dragged Mathias towards their safety, their getaway. Just a few metres away from it, he felt the Dane yell out in pain and stumble, almost falling. Turning back, he hooked an arm around the larger man's waist and shouldered his weight, moving as fast as he could towards the bunker, towards the cover.

Almost tearing the cover open, he shoved the Dane inside - trying to be as careful as possible - before jumping in himself and dragging the 'door' closed, turning the heavy lock once, twice, and three times - just before a loud slam echoed on the other side. Allowing himself a quick sigh of relief, he turned back to his partner... Only to see him lying prone on the floor. A single word echoed in his mind as he stared, eyes wide and body momentarily frozen in place. _No._

Stumbling over as soon as he was released from his statuesque state, he fell to his knees beside him; frantic, fumbling hands rushing to roll him over, to locate the bleeding and halt it, to keep him awake and alive. Bloodied - when did they become bloodied, _they shouldn't be bloodied nonono_ \- and chapped lips parted, dusty eyelashes fluttering above clouded, but still bright aquamarine eyes.

"Lukey...?" The word was almost a groan, and he moved to shush him, still trying to staunch the bleeding, numb terror starting to envelop him as the blood continued to force itself out between his fingers, no matter how hard he pressed or which angle at. The same word was ground out, and a hand weakly, strenuously lifted from the ground to rest on top of his. He paused, looking over and meeting the visible strips of light cerulean. He took a short breath, forcing his voice not to tremble.

"... I'm here." A soft sigh escaped from between the lips, and they painfully curved into a smile. A weak tugging started to take place on his hand, trying to pull it away from the wound towards the injured man's face. He shook his head firmly, keeping his hand in place.

"I can't let go. You'll d-die." His voice broke on the last word, and he looked away, angry at himself, as tears started to well up in his eyes. Another tug.

"... Either... Way... 'M gonna..." His voice sounded laboured, cracked, so much weaker than before. He swallowed, trying to dispel the lump in his throat.

"Shut up. This attitude doesn't suit you." His attempt at getting him to snap out of it, to get him to forget or ignore the truth that he had been keeping suppressed from the moment he saw him lying motionless on the ground, was greeted by a weak chuckle, a fresh spray of blood appearing on the cracked lips. Another, weaker, tug.

"Lukey... Bedes..." The words were barely a sigh now, easily missable over the pounding of his own heart. He shook his head, eyes wide with terror and denial.

"I'm not goin' to just sit back an' watch ya die, idiot!" A breathy chuckle, one last faltering tug on his hand from a man who, although he was doing all he could, was slipping away in front of him, past all aid.

"Then... Kiss it... Better..."

Lukas froze, eyes widening even further and welling up more as he realised what he was asking him to do. No... No. It couldn't. Not... Not like this... No... Please... But the gaze held as steady, even as the breathing became more laboured, less blood began to push between his fingers, and a last, almost silent plea slipped through slightly parted lips. Choking back a small sob, he tore his gaze away, looking down at his hands. He simply stared at them for a moment, before slowly removing them from the injury, heart fracturing and splintering inside his chest.

Moving up to his head, he gently moved the Dane into a position where he was cradled against his chest, held safely and securely in his arms. One last second of hesitation, long enough to whisper an eternal vow of love, before he leant forwards, pressing his lips against the Dane's for the last time.

The kiss was returned for a moment, until the lips slowed and stopped against his own, and the larger body sagged against his own with a soft sigh. He didn't pull away straight away, simply choosing to wait and hope, to pray, to plead. For it to register that he was gone.

He didn't know how long he sat there like that, lips having parted from his a moment or so after the warmth had started to fade and forehead gently resting against his, before the first crystal tear fell, washing a small pool of unsullied purity on the dirty, bloodied skin.


	5. Question!

**Hey guys! So, I have a question for you that I would really appreciate an answer to...**

**I have an idea for an epilogue of sorts for this fic; do you think that I should write it, or leave it as it is?**

**Thank you in advance! Love you all~**


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